


His Own

by sanctuary_for_all



Series: You Decide [2]
Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Established Relationship, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Insight, M/M, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 17:43:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2741354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanctuary_for_all/pseuds/sanctuary_for_all
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Esca's loyalty had always been with his people. It was just that who "his people" were had changed over time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Own

**Author's Note:**

> As seems to be traditional, I cribbed Welsh for the closest we could get to Esca's language. According to Google, "Annwyl" means beloved and "Fi cariad I chi" means I love you.

If the mighty Cunoval had still been alive, he would have ordered Esca to slit Marcus's throat long ago.

Truly, there should have been no need for an order. Any true warrior of the Brigantes would have felt obligated to kill the Roman, the oaths he’d made to his fallen people far more important than any he’d made to an enemy. His honor should lie with them, the breaking of his word nothing more than a sacrifice to his greater responsibility. A warrior fought for those who were his, protected them when he could and avenged them when he couldn’t. It was a truth written into Esca’s bones, far more inescapable than slavery had ever been.

Yet, when they crossed the border, Esca’s hand remained stubbornly still. Marcus would have never anticipated the betrayal, as always seeing Esca almost as another Roman soldier under his command rather than a prisoner of war. Rather than property. To Marcus, the world was a simple place – his honor would never allow him to hurt Esca, which meant that the Briton’s own honor would keep him safe as well.

Esca wondered sometimes how the world had not crushed Marcus’s spirit before this. When the blows weren’t physical, the man made no move to protect himself as he should.

He let them wander, keeping silent though he knew the exact location of the battlefield Marcus sought. He told himself that it was a tactical move to put him at greater advantage, not a delay to put off a decision he found himself more and more desperate not to make. Not a way to avoid the fight he knew would inevitably follow, one more reminder that they were enemies instead of brothers in arms.

Certainly not to protect the brave, noble fool from a measure of the pain he seemed to constantly run towards.

It was the Seal People who finally forced Esca’s hand. He felt more like a warrior among them than he had since he was first captured, the desire to protect as fierce and hot inside him as it had ever been, but the shattering truth was that the feeling wasn’t for his fellow Britons. It was for a lone, angry Roman, one who probably hated Esca by this point.

The decision would shut the door on his homeland more firmly than even his capture once had, silencing once and for all those fervent dreams of returning that had carried him through his early years of slavery. But in the end, there was no other choice to make.

A warrior fought for those who were his.

000

Though they might wish it, both Esca and Marcus knew that cities could not be entirely avoided on the road to Hispania. Marcus dealt with the Romans, while Esca did the same with the Celts who occupied the region. Their language was close enough to his that he’d learned it quickly, his accent familiar enough to them that he was granted the prices they saved for their kinsmen rather than the shafting they gave outsiders. Marcus had similar luck with the Romans, his tendency to command useful when dealing with sentries and other officials who had been bred to follow. The other stayed back, silent if they were present at all.

They did not make the same compromises at night, instead choosing to camp out under the stars. What seemed practical when acquiring food and supplies turned bitter when it affected their quieter moments together, and Marcus had a tendency to defend Esca’s honor with a fierceness that had gotten them thrown out of more than one establishment. It was foolish and impractical, but Esca was too fiercely touched to berate Marcus as he should.

Still, sometimes it needed to be done. For the man’s own good, if nothing else.

“Just because I’m sharing your bed, I’m no simpering Roman maiden who needs a big, strong centurion to protect her,” Esca snapped one night, turning Marcus’s head with some fierceness in order to clean a cut he had missed. “I am fully capable of fighting for my own honor.”

“I know that.” Marcus’s reassurance was urgent, eyes wide with the need to be believed as he gently wrapped a hand around Esca’s wrist. The Romans had strange views of dignity involved in loving between men, and Marcus could be ridiculously concerned about making certain Esca did not feel slighted by it in any way. “I never meant to imply otherwise.”

Esca narrowed his eyes at him. “Then perhaps you should let me choose whether or not to start a particular battle. I am certain I could spare you at least a few of these cuts and bruises.”

Marcus shook his head. “Even as a freeman, the penalty for me to attack them is far less than it would be for you.” Expression softening, he lifted a hand to touch his fingertips lightly to Esca’s face. “And no one should be allowed to speak to you like that.”

Esca’s treacherous heart melted, just as it always did, but he forced an exasperated sigh as he pressed his lips against Marcus’s forehead. “You are a poor Roman, to be so concerned with a Briton’s honor.”

Marcus’s lips curved upward a little. “Ah, but I am your Roman.” Then his expression sobered. “The Gauls— the Celts would welcome you, I think,” he said quietly, eyes darting away from Esca’s. “If you wished it.”

Stunned, Esca pulled back enough to stare at him. “Where did this come from?”

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “I…” Further words failed him, but he rallied and tried again. “I made my choice at leisure, with wonders spread out before me on both sides. You made your choice in war, a blow to your honor on one side and the loss of your people on the other.” He looked back up at Esca, expression wounded. “The Romans took you from your people, and then I did the same. My people are a poor replacement for your loss.”

Something clenched in Esca’s chest. “You’re right. They would be a poor replacement.” He smiled a little. “But the Romans are not my people, any more than the Celts are.”

Marcus’s brow lowered. “I cannot return the Brigantes to you, no matter how much I might wish it.”

Esca shook his head, ignoring the old ache. “They are not my people, either. Not anymore.” He gripped the back of Marcus’s neck. “My people consists of a single, stubborn Roman who would not know good sense if it clubbed him over the head. In war or in peace, I would choose him again a thousand times over.”

Marcus’s mouth was on his almost before he had finished speaking, heat and tenderness twined together so closely they could not be separated. It was how his own parents had kissed, long ago, the kind of bond that he had been taught came only to the most blessed. He still could not quite believe that he had found it here, a thousand heresies transformed into something inexplicably touched by the divine.   

They broke apart, Marcus’s lips remaining only a breath from his. “Annwyl,” he whispered.

It was enough to make Esca’s throat tighten. He had a tendency to murmur endearments in his native tongue, and though Marcus had asked their meaning he’d never before attempted to use them himself. “Your pronunciation is terrible.”

“Then teach me.” Marcus’s lips brushed over Esca’s cheek. “If I am truly your people, I want to use the words you know best to tell you how much I love you.”

Esca closed his eyes. They had said so much, but never those particular words. “Fi cariad I chi.”

Marcus’s lips traveled down to Esca’s neck, murmuring the words against bare skin, and Esca wrapped his arms around the other man. “I love you,” he whispered back, deliberately using Latin. He had expected the taste of them to be bitter on his tongue, but when Marcus’s breath hitched as he heard them they felt only sweet.

No matter what words he used, he was with his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Come check out my weekly posts and original short fiction on my [blog](http://jennifferwardell.blogspot.com) or say hi to me on [Tumblr](http://sanctuaryforalluniverses.tumblr.com)!


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